Worthless
by TL Cowman
Summary: The story of a man who had nothing left to live for...or so he believed.


**Worthless**

I locked the door behind me. I dropped my briefcase onto the sofa as I made my way towards the kitchen. Flipping through the dozen or so delivery menus I had saved up over time, I decided on Dat's Corner Chinese Restaurant. After making the call, I sat on my sofa and flipped the television on. I'm not sure what was on; I just watch the TV, but I don't _really_ watch it. I pulled out the left drawer on my coffee table and found my pipe and a fresh pack of rocks, so I began to smoke one. This is what my life has become. It feels like there is nothing left in this world for me to live for. The room begins to morph, as if it had a mind of its own. The only thing I can do is let the drugs take over my mind and go with the flow. I remember things here and there, sometimes memories that I've never even had. Or at least I don't remember having. Then on the TV I see her, looking at me as if she's disappointed with what I've become. She comes out of the TV, and to me it seems natural. She comes up to me, slowly leaning in to my face. I close my eyes and pucker my lips. _Knock Knock_.

I jump as the sound startles me and look around the room for a few seconds. Everything is normal. Nothing is morphing. There is some stupid sitcom rerun on TV, one of those 'perfect life' shows. She's not in the room. I pull myself off of the couch and stumble to the door, feeling the effects of coming down from my high.

"You order from Dat's?" The young Asian man asks me, holding a brown paper bag.

"Yeah, I did. How much is it again?"

"You owe 28.79." He replies in a hurry.

"Here," I say, handing him two twenties. "I don't need any change."

"Oh, thank you very much, sir. Good night."

I sit back down on the sofa and pull the coffee table towards me a little bit. I open the Styrofoam container and a blast of steam hits me. I empty the rice box into the container and stir everything up. I take a few bites. The Chinese food doesn't appeal to me anymore. Sitting back on the couch, I stare blankly at the TV. I just think about everything; about my past, when I enjoyed living. Now I enjoy nothing. Every now and then I glance at the microwave clock. 10:14 PM. 11:48 PM. 1:04 AM. I am never sure what time it is when I finally fall asleep.

The next morning was another normal morning for me. I woke up with just enough time to quickly shower and change before catching the subway to work. I sat at my desk unaware of most things around me as the time passed. If I had not glanced at my desk calendar I would not have known that it was Friday. It was unusually slow for a Friday. I hadn't gotten many calls today; I had little consulting to do. I looked at the picture on my desk. It was me and her from a little over two years ago. It was taken at Toni's Pub on our two year anniversary. Two years we had been dating and we still had all the passion from the first day. That's what I saw in this picture; our passion, or love, still so strong. I had to look away from it. I went back to my work.

"Mike, you going to the company picnic this Sunday in the park? Mike!"

"What? Oh, uh, sorry I was thinking about something. I didn't hear you," I replied. It was John. He was probably my only friend here at work, and by friend I mean the only person from work that I occasionally saw outside of work. He lived a few blocks from my apartment building so it wasn't too much of a hassle to go to his place if he invited me.

"It's cool, buddy. I know this shit can really take over your thoughts sometimes. I was just here to see if you were gonna go to the picnic this Sunday? The one in Central Park?"

"Shit, the picnic. I had completely forgotten about it, man. I made plans a few weeks ago for this weekend, so I'll be out of town Sunday."

Lies. I didn't forget about the picnic, I just didn't want to go to it. I can handle seeing John outside of work every once in a while, but I had no desire to see anyone else in this place if I didn't have to.

"Alright, buddy. Just stay safe, and for God's sake, get some damn sleep! You've been looking like shit lately!"

"Hehe, yeah I know. Just been up late watching the Yankees games a few nights this week."

"I hear that! I'll catch you later man, I'm out of here for the weekend!"

I didn't even realize it was already past four until he had said that. I gathered some papers from my desk and put them in my briefcase. After making sure my computer was completely shut down, I left my 22nd floor prison, for a few days at least. I got off of the subway a few blocks from my apartment, right outside of Toni's Pub. We used to go to Toni's all the time. I have so many good memories at this place. Now I just go after work every Friday. I guess I've kind of made it some sort of tribute to her, at least, that's what I've told myself it was. It was about 5:30 when I got there. There were maybe three other guys at the bar. I sat at my usual seat and put my briefcase on the seat to my left. That's where she sits. That's where she used to sit. That's where I first saw her.

"Hey, Mike, long day at the office? What'll it be, the usual?" Toni asked from across the bar. He was the only other person I considered a friend, just because I've known him for so long. I sometimes wonder if he is just nice to me because I am a customer. I think he genuinely likes me.

"Yeah, just Budweiser. Leave me a pitcher, too. It's been rougher 'n usual today."

"No problem, Mike. Just let me know if you need anything else."

It had been a rough couple of days, actually. I hadn't thought about her so much for awhile. Next Tuesday was September 22nd. Two years ago from that day I lost her. That must be why I've been thinking about her more often. I guess somehow I knew the date. I never found out the reason she died because we weren't married yet. Boyfriends aren't privileged to that kind of information, and her parents despise me. They blamed me for the drugs when the truth is she had been taking more things than me when we first met. I just assumed her death was drug related. I had decided not to go to her funeral service so I didn't upset any of her family. She always hated when I upset her family. I sometimes did it just to piss her off. It was all in fun though, and we'd laugh about it later. That's all I have now; the memories of the good times. I even think about the memories of the bad times once in awhile, because they're still memories with her, and because we could never stay angry at each other for too long. I couldn't cry over her anymore. Sometimes I really tried hard to cry, but I ran out of tears months ago. Now, instead of crying, I drink the pain away. Alcohol and crack, my escape from the pain. I'm not sure if it was just the two pitchers of beer in me, but I felt like I was at the lowest point in my life. Lower than when she died. I had to go somewhere to think about it, but I couldn't go back to my place. John had to be home.

I slammed some money down on the bar, and stumbled out into the street. I tried focusing on street signs so I knew which way I was going. I was a lot drunker than I thought I had gotten. I finally found the right way, and started walking the blocks to John's apartment. The noise and lights from the city was making me feel sick and giving me a headache. I had finally found his building, a large, grey, plain looking structure. I walked in and began climbing the staircase to the 9th floor. I felt my legs burning as I climbed the stairs. My breathing was heavy and rapid, my lungs trying to grasp any oxygen it could. When I reached the 5th floor I puked everywhere. It was the kind of puking you felt in every bit of your body, the kind that made everything hurt. I continued my journey and finally reached the 9th floor. I knocked on his door for what seemed like forever.

"Mike, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going away for the weekend? Is everything alright?" John asked, surprised and concerned.

"I'm still here. I just, I just needed somewhere I could think. I couldn't go to my place."

"I knew something was wrong today at work, I just couldn't figure out what it was. But now I realize what the date is. You need to let go of her, man. It's been two fucking years! She wasn't that good for you, either. I know what kind of girl she was. She was a dirty slut and she wasted the last four years of your life!"

"Shut your fucking mouth! You don't talk about her like that! You're a liar! I love her!"

"You _loved_ her! She is gone, and your life has been shit lately! Forget her!"

"Don't say another word!" I felt anger taking over, flowing through my body. It's the first thing I felt in two years. I couldn't help but like the feeling.

"She was a dirty little tramp! Nothing but a – oww! What the hell? You hit me?! Get – oww, that, that hurts. I can't breathe! I feel, dizzy. Please, stop it Mike. Please -"

I kept squeezing his throat as hard as I could. I felt his last breath escape him. I realized what I had done to him. I panicked at first. But, after a few moments, I felt a sort of happiness. I felt like I finally had something I enjoyed again. I couldn't help but notice I was smiling. The power felt great. Now I had to cover this up somehow. There was too much evidence of a struggle in the room. And I knew I was sloppy; there were probably hairs and fingerprints everywhere. I spilled some alcohol on the wall above an electrical outlet. I figured I could make it look like a fire caused by faulty wiring. The body would probably be too destroyed to find any evidence of what I had done to him. I lit the wall and left the building.

I woke up about ten minutes before noon that Saturday. I couldn't remember the last time I slept so well. It was the first time I had slept in my bed since she had died. The world around me seemed so new, so alive today. Everything I ate that day was like it was the first time I had eaten it. I decided I would go to the picnic on Sunday. I would act just as shocked about John's death as everyone else.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since I had killed John. They had been the greatest two weeks in the past two years for me. I picked up the _New York Times_ and read the first lines of a front page story. "After a full investigation, the New York Fire Department has concluded that the fire that killed John Meretti had been caused by faulty wiring. There was no foul play in the case." My plan had worked perfectly for being so sloppy. This time I would be much more careful, much more precise with everything. I had already picked my next one and have been studying him carefully for a week now. Very soon the time would be right to make the move. I had something to pass my time now. I had something that made me happy again. I didn't feel worthless. I lived my life to the fullest again. I didn't need drugs or alcohol anymore. I was free. I knew she'd be happy knowing that I felt a purpose in my life again. She'd want me to keep doing something that made me happy. She'd tell me to keep going. We'd laugh about it.


End file.
